


Trouble

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Episode Related, Gap Filler, M/M, Short, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-12
Updated: 2006-01-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Takes place between 301-302(3).  A look into Brian's state of mind during these episodes (time period). Written as a vignette.





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Since I can relate with Brian during this time period (301-302 (3), using the hustler, excessive alcohol, and drugs as pain management I wrote this as: his state of mind. I'm not good with continuing things, so I'm not sure if I should continue this. Thank the Coldplay song (off A Rush A Blood to The Head album) for the inspiration. Them and well my life. Thank my drug dealer, Daniel, too. He's my pain management.   


* * *

Trouble

“The signs of Trouble are subtle, think too hard and you’ll miss them.”

The signs never hit you,   
you not having trouble,   
because no problem exists.

In bed, you wake, realizing you’ve been awake, you configure, you’ve forgotten how to dream. For you remember every waking minute of the night. The persistence drip from the faucet and the air. How it felt like smog, smothering you. You tried to smother your thoughts, but that led to trouble. Thinking about mundane and monotonous thoughts, listening to the drip, anything to make you avoid what you’ve been avoiding. Him. It’s not a word in your head, it’s a sentence. He’s with him. You remind yourself as you do everyday. Causing the same reaction. The atmosphere seeming stale, smothering you, your thoughts float away. 

Come back, you thoughts scream, your throat straining to keep its calm. You remain cool and collected, never losing your façade, because you’d rather live with this emptiness the rest of your life than let anyone pity you. The air, unbreathable, the world, unbearable, you, calm and collected. 

The powder reaches your nose and scraps the inside and finally floats its way into your brain. Numbing away the thoughts that have now become unavoidable. The pain that brings razor-edged thoughts that blunt your resistance to cry at them. You remain cool and collected, because right now that is all you have. Sleep overcomes you, eventually. Your eyes droop, inevitable closing, no matter how much you try. Hate sleep. This conscience state brings you to a place you’re too vulnerable and weak.   
You detest the weak, thus you hate yourself.

You will never be able to overcome the unavoidable. You stare out, the walls of your pretentious loft stare back at you. They watched as you let the conscience state fade away and dissolve into sleep.

Besides,  
it’s not like you’ll dream, you forgotten how. Just like you forgotten what the signs of trouble are.


End file.
